


Visions of Blue and Gold

by karmula



Series: tfa_kink fills [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Coma, Comatose Finn, Fluff and Angst, Force Visions, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Old Married Couple, Prophetic Visions, also not really angst but, some parts are a little emotional, what with Finn being in a coma and all, with a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5777095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmula/pseuds/karmula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe grins, his eyes, nestled amongst soft, powdery-looking skin lined with crows’ feet, sparkling as he reaches for Finn’s hand. As he does, a band of gold on his left ring finger catches the mid-afternoon light, flashing in the sun.</p><p>Finn’s heart leaps into his throat, entirely intact and fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s. He wants to ask, but doesn’t; instead, he looks down at his own hand, where he sees a matching golden band of his own, circling his ring finger in an embrace.</p><p>He flexes his fingers, which feel unmistakably his, and matches Poe’s smile as they join hands.</p><p><a href="https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1841.html?thread=1719089#cmt1719089">Prompt:</a> Poe/Finn - While Finn is in his coma recovering from Starkiller, his dream-self ends up fastforwarding into the future, where he and Poe are an old married couple and they won the war. He wakes up with a sense of purpose towards making this future real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions of Blue and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have a few other WIPS I should be working on right now - not to mention actual real-life responsibilities, lmao - but during my daily trawling of the TFA kinkmeme I came across this _amazing_ prompt and I just _had_ to write something for it! I hope it doesn't come off rushed or weirdly-paced, because I did try really hard to get it polished, but I also wanted to get it up ASAP because I love it so much and wanted to share it.

Everything is red: the trees, the snow, his skin, the sabre – in that order – and the sickening pain that follows. Before, it burns into his retinas; afterwards, his very flesh. He can hear the sickly sizzle as the sabre slashes his spine, tearing through the fabric of his shirt as easily as it tears through the bone underneath, and for a moment everything is so harsh and bright and crimson that he’s overwhelmed. His head is spinning, his heart a pounding, pulpy mass in his throat.

He thinks he screams, thinks he falls, but he is truly aware of nothing but the pain, all sound blurred into one ear-splitting roar, all sensation nothing but heat and blinding red, even amidst the snow, and his vision –

Finn closes his eyes.

Everything is black.

-

There is a veil over his eyes, thin and made of a translucent, netted black fabric that traps his breath with every exhale. He peers through the diamond-shaped gaps in the material only to find he cannot see anything but a pair of hands, shrouded in the same strange black veil. Trembling, he reaches forward as if to take hold of them, and they move too.

Finn starts with the realisation that they are his. He commands the fingers to flex, and they do, but he feels nothing but a terrifying nothingness, an utter disconnection, as if they have been chopped cleanly off at the wrists. Something in his chest tightens, constricting his lungs with iron fingers.

_What’s happened to me?_

In a moment of sheer panic, he thrashes out wildly, clawing at the fabric that clings so tightly to his skin. If he is wearing a veil, there _must_ be a way to remove it, to escape, to tear it apart if he must. He knows he can do it, if he can only manage to find –

The veil parts, flooding his vision with a blue light brighter than he thought possible. Instinctively he closes his eyes against it, makes to pull the veil back over himself, but it’s too late and suddenly he’s falling, tumbling through thin air, surrounded in that same glowing sapphire light that seems almost to come from _within_ rather than from without.

Then he’s sitting upright, the blue falling away in shards from his lashes with each blink.

“Oh, hon, you’re awake,” a voice says. Something about it is familiar, though he can’t quite place it. It is soothing, slow and slightly husky, the weathered voice of an older man. For some reason he cannot figure out, it conjures images of brown leather, golden sand, tanned skin as smooth as silk. “Just in time.”

He is sitting in a high-backed armchair in cosily furnished quarters, cream-coloured curtains pulled back from large, arching windows that overlook a bustling cityscape dotted with green. The décor is a mixture of classic and modern, velvety mauves and dusty golds accented with glass and soft marble, that somehow manages to look complementary rather than clashing.

And sitting across from him, an aged yet unmistakable Poe Dameron. Stubble shadows his jaw, and his hair is a salt-and-pepper mess more salt than pepper, but his eyes are that same warm brown that melts when he smiles, and _Force_ is he smiling now, genuine and easy as he looks at Finn.

“General Organa will be over in a few minutes, and I think she’s bringing some people. Don’t worry, I prepared something for us all – I know the kitchen was never your forte – but do you want to help me get out the holo albums? I think it would be nice to look over them all together, don’t you?”

Finn meets Poe’s gaze and smiles, orienting himself around it in this strange new place, and finds he can make himself feel perfectly at home. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

Poe grins, his eyes, nestled amongst soft, powdery-looking skin lined with crows’ feet, sparkling as he reaches for Finn’s hand. As he does, a band of gold on his left ring finger catches the mid-afternoon light, flashing in the sun.

Finn’s heart leaps into his throat, entirely intact and fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s. He wants to ask, but doesn’t; instead, he looks down at his own hand, where he sees a matching golden band of his own, circling his ring finger in an embrace.

He flexes his fingers, which feel unmistakably his, and matches Poe’s smile as they join hands.

Standing, their age becomes more pronounced; Finn becomes accurately aware of his own weariness, the way his back is slightly hunched, the pressure in his joints. He is especially aware of how much Poe leans on him, almost as if he has a lame leg, perhaps the burden of some long-ago battle.

The only thing that feels truly young is his heart, beating out a tempo on his ribs that would rival the speed of any First Order starship.

Poe leads Finn across the room, through a spacious passageway, a sleek kitchen-dining room combination flooded with light, into a darkened room that looks as if it could be a study or a minimalist command-room of some kind. The lights flicker on as they enter, throwing everything into sharp relief.

Finn stares in wonder. The walls are a pale off-white, and on the far side there is a large silver desk above which hangs a mounted collection of medals, all shapes, sizes and colours. Most of them are inscribed with Poe’s name, but two or three bear his, and his last name is Dameron.

_We won?_

Out of the right wall a series of shelves jut; in their centre is a small device which continuously projects a slideshow of images on the opposite wall. Finn hopes to catch a glimpse of the two of them, maybe on their wedding day or their honeymoon, but they all seem to be landscapes of foreign planets, most of which are beautifully composed. One, Finn notices, has a corner blurred with red, almost as if the person taking the picture had accidentally partially covered the shot with their thumb.

_Did we go travelling?_

Poe really just needs Finn’s help reaching the top shelf where the albums are kept, which he is happy to provide. Only, after several minutes of blindly patting around without success, Poe begins to suspect he has made a mistake.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Poe apologises, frowning. “I could have sworn I put them… Oh, hang on!” He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles. “BB-8!”

Finn whips his head around to face the door and sure enough, the little orange-and-white droid comes rolling in, a little faded since the last time Finn saw him, but overall no worse for wear. It beeps inquisitively, cocking its head-dome to the side.

“BB-8, have you seen the holo albums? I could have sworn I put them back up here, but I can’t find them anywhere…”

The droid chirrups excitedly, sliding its head-dome back and forth. It slides a drawer-like compartment out of its spherical body, several small white squares rattling about inside of it.

“Those are the one!” Poe crows happily, taking them from the tiny droid and giving it a friendly pat. “Thanks, buddy.”

Five minutes later they’re back in the living room, curled together on the main lounge this time instead of their separate armchairs.  Poe’s arm is draped around Finn’s shoulders, a warm and comforting weight that serves to keep him grounded. His mind is still reeling; Poe smells like cologne and leather, so strongly it makes him giddy in the best way possible.

Poe flicks on the first holo and an image appears in front of Finn’s face, rotating in midair. He has to bite his lip to keep his jaw from dropping. It’s the two of them, Poe sitting in the cockpit of an X-Wing with the hatch open, Finn sitting on the ground underneath with his head between Poe’s legs and Poe’s hand on his head. They’re both smiling, flushed and glowing, like it’s the happiest days of their lives; if this is how it’s been every day since whenever this picture was taken, no wonder Poe’s crow’s feet are so prominent. The thought warms Finn’s heart, and suddenly he’s so overcome with love, warm and dizzy and bright, for the man next to him that, without thinking, he leans over and presses a kiss to Poe’s cheek.

Poe turns his head and kisses him back, close-mouthed, lingering, with his hand gently caressing Finn’s cheek. “Right after this picture – that was the first time we did this,” he says, chuckling, and for a moment Finn remembers, too. “Though we had a lot more energy back then.”

“We sure did,” Finn replies, turning back towards the shimmering image after another quick peck.

They flick through the rest of that album in comfortable silence, then onto the next one, and the next. There, a snap of Finn, kissing what’s visible of Poe’s cheek with his helmet on; here, one of the two of them holding hands, Rey’s head resting between them and her arms slung over their shoulders. At one point, they reach a picture clearly snapped at their wedding day, a perfect shot of the two of them exchanging their rings at the base’s makeshift altar, the next caught in a passionate kiss, and tears prick unacknowledged at Finn’s eyes.

_Finn! Get it together. Don’t waste this time crying; you don’t know how long it’s gonna last._

Though Poe had said their guests would be only a few minutes, it seems to Finn like hours pass this way, staring at visions of a past he hasn’t yet lived and reminiscing over memories he doesn’t have. It feels so real, like _this_ is his life, like this has always been his life, and those memories of snow and blood and sand that occasionally flit to the forefront of his mind; _those_ are the lie.

As if on cue, a knock at the door, closely followed by the familiar crooning of a restless Wookie, startles them both. “Coming!” Poe calls cheerfully, setting the little white squares down onto the coffee table, standing up with a grunt and gesturing for Finn to follow.

Beaming, Finn reaches for Poe’s hand. He doesn’t know how or why he is here, but he knows that this is everything he has dreamed of and more, that this is where he desperately wants to stay.  

But instead of linking his hand with Poe’s, it falls right through. His breath quickening a little in his chest, Finn tries again, with the same result.

“Poe?” he says, frantic. “Poe!?”

“It’s alright, my love,” Poe says, and when he turns around, his eyes as Finn knows them have disappeared, replaced with that strange blue glow from the veil. “We’ll see each other again soon.” The blue is spreading outwards, tinging first his face, then his neck, fanning out until it disappears underneath his clothes and reappears at his hands.

“Poe, what’s happening?” Finn says, swallowing back a sob. “I don’t want you to leave!”

Poe stretches out a hand, haloed in that same blue, and places it on Finn’s chest, on his racing heart.

“I’ll never leave you,” he murmurs, a gentle smile in his voice, and then Finn is jerked backwards, the scene falling away from him as quickly as it had come.

-

There is a damp cloth draped over his face, feverishly hot and suffocating. He doesn’t know how long it has been there, only that he is suddenly aware of its presence. Each time he tries to take a breath, he chokes on a mouthful of the drenched fabric, coarse and rough.

And then he remembers, realises he is stuck in his old nightmare of red and black and suffocation, and he panics. _Poe!? Where is Poe?_

Another part of him wonders if there’s any point in asking such questions, of hoping for such things if they are just going to be ripped away from him again. He feels empty, hollowed out, like a part of him has been torn away. This part of him wonders whether maybe it would be better to let the cloth win, to swallow it until it chokes him and he doesn’t have to feel this anymore.

Then, a voice ( _his_ voice, only decades younger): “Finn! _Doctor!?_ Doctor, please – he’s waking! Finn? Finn, buddy, can you hear me?”

The voice still ringing in his ears, Finn finds his hands immediately. He feels them, feels their strength returning, surging through his wrists right into the tips of his fingers, and though it’s a struggle, he manages finally to rip away the cloth and wakes up gasping, horizontal on a bed so thin and hard it feels like a metal slab.

His brow drips with sweat, a cascade that pours down his face as he starts upright. Something is clamped tightly to his clammy arm, and when he turns to see just what, he finds himself looking straight into two sparkling brown eyes.

He isn’t the same man from his vision, and this isn’t the same world. This world is cleaved in half, this world is spattered with red, this world is war-torn and broken. But within this world is Poe Dameron, and the potential for a life, years from now, just like the one he has seen.

And Finn isn’t giving that up, no matter how hard he has to fight to keep it.


End file.
